Jaded Angel
by Obviously.Has.No.Life
Summary: Humans, as a general rule, aren't supposed to learn about the national personifications. The results could be devastating. So what happens when the world's greatest secrets are put in jeopardy? The world's greatest secrets look to the world's greatest secret-keepers for protection. Rated T for future chapters, may go up. No pairings.
1. Prologue: Conspiring Minds

**EDIT: You won't see a lot of the nations until the Chapter Three: Acceptance. There'll be some brief appearances before then, and then their appearances will be off and on for a while before the plot kicks it into high gear.**

**I've had this story idea in my head for ages and ages, but whenever I started writing, I kind of lost track of the plot and went off in some random direction. I finally just wrote down the entire story line and laid it right smack in front of the computer screen, on our giant OfficeMax calendar, with a note that said, "DO NOT MOVE THIS OR I WILL HARM YOU WITH A WOODEN SPOON! Also, to myself, THIS IS YOUR PLOT LINE. FOLLOW IT." The plot's still pretty malleable, in case I get an idea that I can somehow work into the story just for giggles (because comic relief is fun) but other than that, hopefully I can actually stick with the plot and actually finish one of my longer stories before I'm struck with more inspiration. I think I will, because I love the main character so much. I actually based her on someone I know! :3**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, obviously. Nations that don't have official designs yet belong to, well, uh... whoever created them. The normal, boring, human characters in the story are mine.**

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**Jaded Angel**

**Prologue: Conspiring Minds**

_June 22, 8:45 PM - Private Address, London, England_

"I propose we settle this dispute with a contest," the accent of the old man rang clear and loud in the office. He exhaled cigar smoke. "What do you think, Claudan?"

The figure, cast in the shadows, only responded with a quiet chuckle. "Go on," they mused after a long moment.

"I know how important your siblings are to you, and, obviously, to my disgrace of a daughter, so we'll exclude them from this. You are the head of the Claudan family at present, and I am head of the Hartwig," the old man mused. "So we will head this operation together and yet separately. The victor shall decide the fate of the loser, hm? The challenge, my dear Claudan, is to reveal the world's greatest secret: the personifications of nations."

"It's an interesting proposition. How will we go about this?"

"I have already created an organization that I've divided into two sects. You shall command one and I shall command another. Their mission is the same: to capture and reveal more of these personifications than the other sect. The commander who reveals the most shall be the victor."

"And how do I know who these individuals are?"

"I have provided you with that information, as well."

The figure hummed thoughtfully. "Surely, there must be people who protect these personifications," they said after a moment.

"Ah, but of course. The organization is called the International Shadow Agency, commonly referred to by its agents and those who know of it as Night Watch or ISA. The organization, although global, consists of less than two thousand five hundred members, excluding the nations themselves, their leaders, and the central team. ISA is divided into small, tightly-knit teams, averaging twelve strong, one for each national personification, and they are very incredible people with the best military and academic training in the world. Their leader can even give orders to heads-of-state the world over, as long as those orders pertain to the protection of the personification. They are formidable enemies."

"They sound like it."

"Of course, everyone has their weakness. I assure you, I've yet to discover ISA's, so both you and I shall be racing each other to discover and then hide that weakness from one another."

"Hm," the figure replied. "Well, then, I'm agreeable to this. Forgive me if I sound rude, but I _can_ break down my sect and rebuild it with people I've selected myself, correct?"

"Why, of course," the old man agreed. "Be careful of how you go about it, though. I've picked some of the most intelligent people I could find, but that doesn't mean they're all sane." He put out his cigar and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and staring intently at the shadowed Claudan.

"Do we know the identities of any of ISA's agents?" said Claudan spoke. "Specifically, their team leaders?"

"Only the leaders of smaller countries; they don't strike me as significant. Normally, the greater the nation's role in international affairs, the larger and stronger the team. It's not always true, but it seemed like a fair warning," the old man answered. He chuckled, looking down at a file on his desk. Then he picked it up, opened it, and flipped through it. "There _is_ some information on one of the future agents of American branch. She's been hand-picked by ISA's leader, from what sources have told me, and she's quite a dangerous individual, too."

Claudan chuckled again. "Who is she?" they asked.

"Her real name is unknown; she has yet to receive a false identity," Hartwig mused. "She's a Marine who was split from her unit during her first tour of duty and was found by a British unit. Some important figure in the American Marines issued her the order to work with the unit until arrangements could be made for her to return home. There's a note here made by the scout who observed her: 'the American worked with us well. She takes orders from someone else without arguing, gets along well with the British military, and shows an overall willingness to accept other nationalities, too, based on the stories she's told us. Definitely shows potential; would like to see her as a liaison officer someday.' That's the extent of what we know."

Claudan hummed, eyes glinting even in the darkness. "She sounds very interesting indeed," they commented. "I suppose that ordeal is why she's joining ISA?" '_So much for keeping them out of this.'_

Hartwig chuckled, "That's my theory, as well. Either way, she's one pest I'll be glad to, ah, _exterminate_."

"Meaning 'kill?'"

"Is there a problem with that, Claudan?"

"Not at all, Hartwig. I just wanted to know."

"I see. Yes, I do mean to kill her."

"Let's make that a part of the challenge, then. The agent's death is the equivalent of ten of these personifications. It should make it more interesting, no?"

"Ah," Hartwig laughed. "You have a cruel mind, like your grandfather did. Yes, I'll accept that. By the way, I'd heard it was your birthday. Happy birthday, Claudan."

"Thank you." '_That doesn't mean I trust you to tell me everything you know, though. First order of business: to find out what you really know._'

_June 22, 4:45 PM – Arlington, Virginia, USA_

A young woman knelt and laid a single rose on the grave, as well as a card. She smiled faintly, lingering, and rested her hand on the gravestone. "Happy birthday, Aidan," she said. "Tate joined the Marines today in your honor. Mina left for her second tour this morning. Your twin brother wasn't able to fly from London to wish you a happy birthday, either. His wife's father doesn't want to let him out of his sight." She chuckled. Then she pushed herself to her feet.

In a tree nearby, a bird warbled.

The woman looked at the bird for a moment and then turned back to her older brother's grave. "As for me… well, I should've been with Mina, but something came up. I'm not even sure about it myself," she laughed dryly. She fell silent, lifting her head and turning to watch as a nearby funeral drew to an end.

The woman had seen the funeral procession coming. Though she'd felt a sense of urgency to get to her brother's grave, she'd kept at a respectful distance until they'd passed Aidan's tombstone.

A Marine had been with the procession. A possible relative or friend of the soldier being laid to rest, he'd actually taken time to stop and salute her when he'd seen her waiting, watching as they went. It was a small gesture of recognition, in her eyes. She only wanted to get down to the site before her white rose wilted in her fingers, gentle though she was being.

The woman looked back at her brother's tombstone again, as if praying silently.

"I'm sorry for your loss," a voice spoke.

The woman focused on the speaker: the very Marine who'd saluted her. He wasn't much older than she was, and he had handsome features. Her blue eyes locked onto his hazel. "I'm sorry for yours," she replied.

The Marine shook his head. "He was my cousin," he said. "He was killed in Iraq."

The woman smiled faintly, sadly. "He was one of my older brothers," she said. "It's a memory grave; he's been MIA for five years now. How long have you been serving?"

"Five years," the man answered. "I'm Staff Sergeant Lloyd Eisenberg, by the way. You?"

"First Lieutenant Alana Claudan. I'm actually leaving the Marines today, but I've only served for about two years," the woman said.

"Ah, a college grad. I regret not having done that," Lloyd said, and gave her a peculiar look. "Why would you be leaving after such a short time?"

Alana looked unsure. "I really don't know. I've been told that I haven't done anything wrong," she said. "But apparently I'm not supposed to know anything about it until I meet certain people."

"Sounds suspicious to me," Lloyd remarked. "But if it's so secret, we probably shouldn't talk about it. So, where are you from?"

"Detroit," Alana mused.

"Really? Is Detroit as bad as they say?"

"You want the truth?"

"Definitely."

"The Detroit you're thinking of is what they show on TV. They only show the bad parts. Honestly, my siblings and I grew up in a bad part, too. But beyond that, Detroit's a nice enough city. The problem is that whenever something good is brought to Detroit, people say, 'Okay, that's good! What else good can we bring in?' They never try to improve the good stuff that they bring in, so nothing gets done to improve Detroit."

"Huh," Lloyd said. "I've never heard that perspective."

Alana smiled slightly. "Most people who've never been there haven't," she chuckled, and lifted her head when she heard her name.

An older woman with long, white hair that was pulled up in a tight bun and a young man with messy blond hair and silver, wireframe glasses were making their way towards them.

Lloyd hummed. "Well, it must be important, so I'll leave now," he said. He turned to her, saluting. "Semper fi, First Lieutenant Claudan."

"Semper fi, Staff Sergeant Eisenberg." Alana returned the salute and watched him as he left. When he was gone, she turned to face the two strangers. She found herself saluting them, too; it seemed like the right thing to do, if they were the ones who'd called her out of the Marines. If they had that kind of power, they were to be respected.

The old woman smiled. "At ease, First Lieutenant," she said. "There's no need to be so formal. I'm not used to military formalities."

Alana faltered and glanced at the blond. Then she relaxed. "You aren't, but that implies that you are," she pointed out, nodding towards the young man. He could only be nineteen.

The blond grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he remarked cheerfully.

The old woman's smile widened. "You have sharp instincts, First Lieutenant," she said. "A good eye for detail and I've been told you can hear when someone's lying. You're highly intelligent, too, from what scouting agents have seen. It's a good basis for the mission you're going to be assigned."

"So you've been watching me," Alana said. "I assume you're two of the agents my commanding officer told me about?"

"Yes, since your first year of college, you've been observed," the old woman said. "It was when we first noticed your potential as an agent. You just needed some basic training in combat. That came when we learned that your tuition was being paid for by the Army, and then you left the Army to become a Marine. A British scout sent a recommendation for you, and that sealed the deal."

"And this deal would be?"

"Think of it as an opportunity to protect the nation on a more _personal_ level," the old woman said. "As well as to gain the highest education and combat training the world has to offer."

Alana blinked, remaining silent for a moment as she looked at both of these people thoughtfully. Then she sighed. "Before I give you an answer, I need to know just one thing," she said.

"And that is?" the old woman asked.

"Can I keep a promise that I made a long time ago, to protect my siblings?"

"If it's that important to you, I don't see why not."

"Then my answer is yes."

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**Author's Note: ****By the way, I did some _basic_ research on military, injuries, and certain mental diseases which will apply to a few of the characters in this story. While I _did_ do _some_ research, I know it may be inadequate and I would greatly appreciate it if people would point out my mistakes, like the rank:years of service ratio (Someone, please tell me if that's even REMOTELY accurate, because I don't think it is. It's just something one of my friends guessed at while we were having a totally unrelated conversation). I'm not experienced with military. I'm a student with extremely limited time to do research for my own purposes****. The only thing I can really be certain of is what Alana said about Detroit; that's the opinion of one of my cousins, who has lived there most of her life.**

**I also know that what little you saw of the main character's past is probably very, very, _very_ unlikely to happen ****(okay, _PROBABLY NEVER__)_****. Remember: it's a what-if situation that established the character's place in the agency, and this is a work of fiction. While I would _love_ to be as accurate as possible, some things that occur are just that: _fictional. _Those moments should be fairly obvious.**

**The agency is a huge organization, put in place to protect _all_ of the nations, and there will be heavy interactions with people from other cultures. I am an American; I might come off sounding bias. If I come off as sounding too bias, you have my permission to virtually slap me, but remember that the main character has military siblings. She might come off sounding _pretty_ American when they're around.**

**International Shadow Agency. Kind of a stupid name, isn't it? But ISA sounds all official and stuff, and if it's supposed to be super secret, I didn't really want the name to tell people what the agency was for. National Entity Protection Agency/Services and International Diplomat Protection Agency just screams, 'IMPORTANT PEOPLE HERE!' and I wouldn't be able to hold a straight face when typing the acronyms for the first options (NEPA or NEPS. They're funny, aren't they? I'm not the only one, right?).**

**There's no need to insult anyone. I'll be more inclined to fix my errors if you politely point them out to me.**

**By the way, reviews are lovely. -Has no shame-**


	2. Chapter One: Agents

**A/N: I'm uploading early because I'm grounded for the weekend. I was going to upload tomorrow, but I guess this will have to work, because I'm kind of impatient. I'll come back through and fix grammatical errors as soon as my parents leave me by myself this weekend, _if_ they do.**

**D****isclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, just the boring humans. The nations who aren't canon who show up probably aren't mine either, by the way.**

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**Chapter One: Agents**

_Four years later, Unknown time – Unknown Location_

A file was dropped on the old man's desk, drawing his attention from another, older one he'd been looking through. He lifted his head and gazed up at the middle-aged woman who'd deposited the file with an unceremonious plop. "You look upset. I assume there's bad news?"

The woman shook her head. "Not at all, Commander," she said evenly, and tapped the file with one, long finger. "Nothing could really be any worse than the recent security breach."

"Well, there could, but it's highly unlikely," the old man returned. "Why do you look upset?"

"It's nothing, sir. I'm only surprised by what I just learnt from Chief Instructor Roethke," the woman hummed. "There are three new agents, Commander."

"Is it safe to assume they are all related to this surprise?"

"Yes, sir. They, ah, all began training within a week of each other four years ago."

_"Four years ago_?"

"Four years ago."

"That is surprising. You're certain they've all only been training for just _four_ years?"

"Absolutely. We don't make mistakes when it comes to keeping track of recruits and their training, sir."

"Is there some sort of relationship between these three?"

"They all served together in Afghanistan, Commander."

"They're all from one nation?"

"No, Commander. One's a Scotsman, one's from Wales, and the woman's American."

The commander hummed, leaning forward in his chair and opening the file absently. He looked at the first page, reading through the training report. "It's been forty-five years since someone got through training that quickly," he remarked. "A young Canadian named LaCroix, whose family had a history of joining the agency. You won't remember her, but I do. She vanished mysteriously about thirty-three years ago, and no one could find her; she was arguably one of the best agents ISA has ever seen. Are any of these three possibly related to her?"

"I'm not certain, sir," the middle-aged woman replied. She blinked. "What shall I tell the directors?"

The commander looked thoughtful. After a long moment, he nodded, turning to the next page in the file. A photo was clipped to a single page written not as a training report but as a personal letter filled with observations Chief Instructor Roethke had made.

The photo, taken in Afghanistan, featured three people.

The woman, wearing her Marine uniform complete with the American flag on her shoulder, had a peculiar, quizzical look on her face, pointing at a spot under the flag, where a Union Jack was also pinned. She seemed strong in a lean, wiry way. The commander could almost hear her exclamation of, '_What the fuck?_' as she indicated the second flag.

Resting his arm on her other shoulder was a young man of perhaps twenty, laughing at her. He was handsome, scruffy in a way no amount of military precision could fix, and had the look of someone who knew how to handle himself. Off to the right another man about the woman's age, who had dark brown hair, strong features, and blue-gray eyes, was snickering.

Both men made clear just how small the Marine was. The label in the corner said they were the agents.

"David Kincadd. That'll be the ID for the Welsh agent. Sara Mary Banes for the woman," the commander stated, chuckling. "And Robert MacDougal for the Scotsman."

"Aren't those names that have already been used, Commander?"

"They are," the old man said dismissively. "They were the false identities of agents who were the best of their times. I think the new agents show potential to succeed the old. Please inform their teams' directors that they have new agents; I'll send their information myself. Oh, and don't tell any of them what names I've chosen for these agents. That'll be my unpleasant job."

"Yes, Commander," the woman responded, nodding. She turned and walked away.

As the door closed, the commander chuckled again. "What an interesting lot," he remarked to no one in particular. "Let's see if they can fill the shoes of their namesakes."

_July 3, 4:43 am – Unknown location_

"Agents."

Alana turned her head and peered through the darkness. She was leaning against the wall of the hangar, not so much tired as she was relaxed. Four years of waking up at five o'clock every single morning tended to do that to a person; she did it without prompting now.

Beside her, a taller man, the one she had always known as Blin (she had learned his first name once, but now it escaped her, so often had she called him by his surname or by a nickname), hummed, "Wonder what this'll be about. What about you, Snowflake?"

Snowflake was Alana's nickname from the two men who stood nearby; it was in reference to her elfin, fragile appearance and lack of height. "It can't be too bad," she responded. After about two years, she'd begun to hide her normal, musical speech pattern. She let it slip through just then, earning herself a strange look from Blin.

A figure appeared out of the darkness then. Chief Instructor Roethke, at two hundred centimeters **(1)**, was a mountain of a man, with broad shoulders and a strong, sturdy build. He had been there to badger them from the moment they arrived up until then, their last few minutes as recruits. He held three folders in his hands and, as he approached, he _smiled_ for the first time in their memories.

Alana couldn't read the emotion in the expression. She glanced sideways and saw both Blin and Hall (she knew that his first name was Andrew) were having the same problem. Her peculiar, bright eyes zeroed in on Roethke again.

The man chuckled. "This is one of my favorite duties as Chief Instructor. It's not often that I get to do it," he said. "The moment you step on those planes, you will no longer be considered recruits. You will be full agents of ISA, and your first mission will be to learn all of the information in these folders. We're certain you'll understand it." As he spoke, he handed a folder to each of them. He pointed at Hall. "Agent Robert MacDougal, your plane will arrive first."

Andrew blinked, shrugging. "Aye," he agreed.

Roethke pointed at Blin. "Agent David Kincadd, yours will be second."

Blin nodded.

Finally, Roethke looked at Alana. "And you, Agent Sara Banes, will be on the third."

"Yes, sir," Alana agreed.

Roethke put on a serious expression, glaring at all of them as if they were new recruits again.

At once, all three snapped to attention.

"It's been an honor!" Roethke stated. "I congratulate all of you for surviving for the past four years and wish you luck in years to come. Farewell, Agents." And then, almost instantly, he vanished.

The three stood in silence for about ten minutes afterwards. That silence was ultimately broken by the sound of a plane's engine and landing gears as the craft raced down the runway.

When it stopped, Andrew pushed himself from the hangar wall, grinning lopsidedly. "Well," he chuckled, his accent making the others grin in response. "I guess this is me."

"See you around, Andrew," Alana said.

"Bye, Snowflake," Andrew responded. "Blin."

Blin laughed.

They watched him leave, and then, not long after, Alana watched Blin go, too. She sighed heavily, wondering if and when she'd see her two closest friends again. As she thought, the first rays of sunlight began to brighten the sky, breaking over the mountain peaks that surrounded the hidden training grounds of ISA.

Planes weren't commonly seen there; the fact that one would be landing soon made the location seem even more remote, although Alana wasn't really certain where she was anyways.

'_Speaking of planes,_' Alana thought uninterestedly, gazing skyward at a dark shape that was approaching the runway. '_This must be mine._'

Indeed it was.

As Alana boarded, she was greeted with a sleepy young man who grinned slightly when he saw her. "You must be Agent Banes," he greeted. "I'm George. I'm the scouting agent who first saw you in college."

Alana blinked at him, thinking, and then shook her head. "I don't remember you," she said. "Sorry."

"That's the point. You're not supposed to notice us," George chuckled. "Anyways, about that folder you have there. I'm supposed to help you if you don't understand a part of it."

"Err… alright then?" Alana mused.

George nodded. "Well, better go sit down and get comfortable. We've got a _long_ flight ahead of us. Next stop: America's vital regions."

"_What_?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

_July 3, 12:39 pm – Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C. _

Alana yawned, closing the folder after having read it for the umpteenth time. She looked at George, who looked perfectly alert, and shook her head. "Alright, that was surprisingly easy," she said. "National personifications are people who are literal, human forms of a country and every aspect of it, right?"

"Exactly," George answered. "They live longer and age differently from humans, though, and it's the duty of an ISA agent to protect the secret and, ultimately, the personification."

"Alright then," Alana hummed.

"You're taking this better than most new agents do," George said. "The last one I had to deal with babbled for half of the flight before he settled down enough for me to explain. Granted, you took your time to study the information, and went through it a few times before you asked me anything, so you had some time to let it sink in." He chuckled at an old memory, shaking his head, and then glanced out of the window. "I hate flying."

"Me, too," Alana sighed.

"Good news: I see Ronald Reagan. We'll be getting off this damn pressurized sky capsule soon."

"I like your description."

"Thank you. By the way, as you probably already know, tomorrow will be America's birthday. Because he invited countries to celebrate with him, the world meeting will be held shortly, too; you'll meet quite a few of the personifications within the next few days."

"Hm."

"'Hm' isn't quite the response I was expecting!" George laughed after a moment. "You really are a unique one, Agent Banes. Director Hightower will be the one to meet us when we land; she'll most likely be accompanied by America and, possibly, even other nations."

Alana nodded. "Alright," she accepted, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. The next few minutes were spent sorting through her thoughts. In order to get to D.C., they had plane-hopped in Chicago, where they arrived early in the morning. Such activities, even when Alana was carrying nothing, were surprisingly tiring. She huffed, biting back a yawn, and stared at the ceiling of the plane, humming to herself.

When the plane touched down, she was jolted from her thoughts. Alana glanced out the window, watching the airport speed by in a blur of color, and then groaned. "I'm going to hate jet lag," she said when the plane finally halted.

"Sorry," George chuckled, standing. "Here, I'll take that folder."

"Right." Alana handed him said object as she rose from her seat. "So, anything else I should know?"

"Err… well, not really," George mused.

When they got off the plane, they walked towards a pair of people who were, apparently, waiting for them, George leading the way, Alana realized that the duo were the same who had met her four years ago. The old woman, most likely Director Elizabeth Hightower, smiled slightly while the young blond, who she now knew was her own nation, the United States of America, grinned broadly.

That sounded weird, even in her mind.

Alana blinked when she noticed that there were more than two people there. Her unusually bright eyes glinted, her mind turning slowly as she struggled to assess these new faces. She drew a blank and looked curiously at George. "Who are they?" she inquired.

George smiled knowingly. "You like to be well-informed, I see, Agent Banes," he said. "The blond beside America is England. It's hard to tell from this distance, though. The man you see beside Director Elizabeth Hightower is Director Samuel Hathaway of the English branch. I imagine he – and England – are none too pleased with the identity you've been given, by the way. Best tread carefully."

"Why is that?"

"Of course; you're new. You don't know. Your identity – that is, your _false_ identity – is almost exactly the same as that of one of ISA's best agents: Liaison Sara Mary Banes, who operated as a link between Canada and the ISA branches in the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland. She was a good friend to all five nations, and now they feel like you're replacing her. It's probably why you're going to meet England first; he's... err, well, considerably more, ah, _patient_ about these things. Wales, too, and North Ireland when Ireland and Scotland aren't nearby." George said nothing else on the subject, but instead smiled as they reached the quartet. "England, Director Hathaway, America, Director Hightower, this young woman is First Lieutenant Claudan, otherwise known as Agent Sara Mary Banes."

There was a long pause, and then Alana smiled charmingly, her unusually bright, blue eyes gleaming with a variety of emotions. She opted to ignore the strange look England was giving her.

"It's been a long time, First Lieutenant," Director Hightower said. "But, considering the normal training time, it really hasn't."

"I'm not sure if I should say thank you or not."

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**A/N: (1) two hundred centimeters - For my fellow Americans, that equals about six foot seven. In other words, Alana _really_ feels like a shrimp around Chief Instructor Roethke.**

**Okay, this is just something I need to get off my shoulders. If you don't want to read about my problems with life, I strongly suggest you skip to the last two sentences of this paragraph: I strongly dislike people in the real world at the moment. My week has done nothing but suck, and when I'm in a bad mood, I tend to get really snippy. Apparently my family can't comprehend that, when that happens, you back off, and most people at school are only out to make me miserable. When should a seventeen-year-old come home crying _inconsolably_ just because some childish morons said something mean? Yeah, that's just how much I've been picked away at by people this week, and my own parents won't listen to me when I try to tell them that I can't take it anymore. ****It's not even been ten days since school started this year and I'm already in this kind of shape? ****I can usually take much, _much_ more, and I never go off and rant about it to people I don't even know. That's why I love people here on FF; you guys _always_ make me feel better. You guys are awesome.**

**Like Prussia. No joke.**

**I still need some help verifying little details; I will give credit to the person who helped me, and shall love you _forever!~_ By the way, I _had_ a first name for Blin, but I can't remember. Anyone want to throw out some interesting Welsh names for him?**

**Jayne X: -Points up at my little rant- I read your review yesterday morning; it made my day _that_ much better.**

**Bree: Comparatively, they _are_ boring! I mean, come on, personified nations? Who can top that? Now, seriously, when are you updating your story?**


	3. Chapter Two: Weary

**Originally, I intended only to upload on Saturdays, but I finished this chapter yesterday morning and kind of wanted to upload it now because some of my friends keep asking me about it. Anyways, first bit of action in this chapter. Not much. Just guns, deaths, injuries, and some foreshadowing. Oh, and England.**

**Disclaimer: Once again, only the boring humans are mine.**

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**Chapter Two: Weary**

_July 3, 12:53 pm - Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C._

As they moved to leave, England matched Alana's pace, walking beside her. "Excuse me," he said.

Alana smiled. "Yes?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

"Are you, by any chance, related to an Alexandria LaCroix?"

Alana hummed, "Alexandria LaCroix… no, I don't think so."

"Dude, you're so tiny!" America exclaimed, joining them with a huge grin.

Alana smiled. "I got it from my mother," she said. "She was small, too – but size isn't everything."

"It's not the size of the dog," America responded cheerfully. "It's the size of the fight in the dog."

"That's cheesy," Alana laughed. "But it's still true!"

England chuckled at that comment. His eyes were glazed, hollow.

Alana knew that look; she'd worn it often enough. It was a look of nostalgia. Her smile fell just slight. She didn't have many memories to be nostalgic over, but the ones she did have were frequent visitors when she had spare time.

The unhappier times were also common, though they came in sleep. Often times, to that very day, she awoke well before dawn, either having a fit, sobbing, or screaming, and she didn't sleep again that night. She shook her head of the thoughts and looked at Director Hightower as the old woman spoke to her.

"Agent Banes, I'm certain you're exhausted, so I'll have to introduce you to the rest of the team tomorrow morning. Arrangements have been made for you already; George will be the one to take you to your new home," Hightower explained.

Alana paused. She didn't know how to respond to that. What did the woman mean, 'home?' She had no house, unless, of course, ISA had already taken care of that for her.

_July 3, 1:07 pm – Unknown Address, Washington, D.C._

Yawning sleepily, the woman glanced sideways, watching calmly as a car pulled up to the house. She shook her head, focused intently on the vehicle, and grinned slightly when she saw the passenger climb from the vehicle. She lifted a hand, pressing it to her earpiece. "Target acquired," she said.

There was a pause, and then a quiet voice responded, "Alone?"

The woman paused, focusing on her target. She growled when someone else get out. "I was hoping he would just leave," she spat. "No, the target has company."

"Elaborate, if you would, Miss Elliot."

"A single male, maybe in his late forties."

"Can you handle him?"

"It wouldn't be a problem, sir."

"You are aware of the consequences if you fail?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. You may proceed when they are both inside."

"Understood," the woman said. She smiled dementedly, switching her connection so that she could speak to her unit. "Get ready. They're coming in. Remember: we want the woman alive. The boss wants to take care of her himself."

"Got it," a male voice responded cheerfully. "The guy's not important to the boss, right?"

"Yeah," she replied, her eyes narrowing minutely. She chuckled when the two stepped inside. "They're in. Get a move on."

_July 3, 1:09 pm – Inside the home, Washington, D.C._

George paused, reaching out and touching Alana's shoulder. "Hang on, Agent Banes," he said quietly, scanning the entrance hall warily. "There's something wrong."

Alana nodded.

George reached into his undercoat, drawing a pistol. "First rule for an ISA agent: always keep a gun on hand, no matter what," he breathed. "Second: keep a spare." As he spoke, he handed Alana the pistol. "Keep this one."

Alana nodded again. "Got it," she whispered.

George pressed a finger to a hidden piece in his ear. "Third: keep a constant connection with Director Hightower," he instructed softly, and then paused before speaking again. "Director? Something's wrong at Banes' home." He paused once more. "Roger that." He looked at Alana. "We hold on until the teams arrive."

"Right," Alana said. She reached behind her, locking the front door, and turned her head when she heard a soft rustle of fabric. Then she slid down the adjacent hallway, aware of George following her silently. She peered into the first room she came upon and immediately lifted her pistol, aiming.

The man who stood there growled at her furiously, "You're lucky we're not allowed to kill—"

George leaned around and fired. "Don't hesitate," he said quietly. "Just shoot."

Alana paused, looking at the dead man, and then nodded her agreement. "Let's split up," she urged calmly.

"Alright," George agreed, turned, and walked back the way he came.

Alana stepped down the rest of the hallway, finding no one else. She walked into the kitchen and then whirled, swinging the barrel of her pistol into an attacker's forehead. She fired once, tilted her head, and knelt, grabbing the man's shirt collar as she nudged his gun away from his hand with her foot. "How many of you are there?" she spat.

The man coughed. "More than I can count," he growled, grinning cheekily.

"Arrogant, I see. Alright," Alana said, nodding. "Who are you?"

"Saviors of humanity."

"Oh, really?" Alana huffed, releasing the man's shirt collar and letting him fall. She rose and listened carefully. She caught the sound of breathing around the corner and turned, spotting the shadow just as it moved to stand in the doorway. Her finger squeezed the trigger and the other man went down with a brand new hole in his head. "What a 'welcome home' surprise this is." She heard nothing else downstairs.

Above, though, she heard gunfire – and lots of it, too.

Scowling, Alana darted back down the hall and began to hunt for the staircase she knew had to be there. Fortunately, it was easy to find and Alana took the steps two at a time, recklessly.

Another gunshot led her down a long hallway and into an office, though it was now in complete disarray.

A man had her back to her and was prowling around the desk, chuckling. "Hiding now, are we? Always knew ISA agents were cowards," he cackled.

Alana pointed and fired.

The laughing man went down, silent.

George looked around the desk and lifted a pistol of his one, pointing it at a point behind Alana.

Just as he did, a door to his right was kicked open by a woman.

Alana jerked, firing instinctively, and felt a bullet fly past her ear.

There were two thuds.

Alana turned and saw another woman slumped to the ground behind her just as George looked at the woman Alana had shot. Then they looked at each other.

"You alright?" George asked.

"Fine," Alana said. "You?"

"He shot my leg, but other than that, I'm fine."

Alana nodded. "Where's the director?" she asked as she paced across the room, stepping over the man's corpse. She knelt beside George, looking at his injury thoughtfully. There was a hole in his knee, going clean through, and red blossomed around the wound. "You're not gonna be walking on that."

"Figured as much," George chuckled. "Bullet's not in there, at least." He pressed his finger to the piece in his ear. "Director?" There was a pause. "Copy that." He looked at Alana. "Let's get outside. They're here."

"Right," Alana said, grabbing his arm and slinging it across her shoulder despite his protest. She pulled him to his feet. "Shut up; I've done this a few times before."

"Jeez. You're bossy," George remarked.

Alana grinned and helped him hobble out of the room and down the hall. At the top of the stairs, she paused. "Here's the fun part," she chuckled. "Ready?"

"Ready," George agreed. "Careful, Agent Banes. Stairs are my worst enemy."

"Understood," Alana mused.

The trip down the stairs went by surprisingly smoothly and quickly, although it was definitely an arduous task. They made their way to the front door slowly and, as Alana's hands were full, George unlocked the door and opened it.

Guns were pointed at the door and, thus, at them. There was a pause, and then the guns lowered, vanishing into their hiding places just like their concealed wielders.

Alana paused and smiled slightly. "Do I know how to raise hell or what?" she asked George.

"Or what," George chuckled.

Alana looked eerily cheerful in the face

"Yeah," George responded. "Best let me go now. I've got a doorframe to lean on."

"Not yet," Alana said, forcing him to walk with her down the steps of the porch. She let him sit down at the base of the steps and heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw Director Hightower and two unfamiliar men drawing nearer. Then she turned her attention back on George.

"You really are bossy!" George remarked.

One of the strangers walked right past them, disappearing into the house, while the other crouched and began speaking to George. As he did, Alana stepped back and turned to Director Hightower.

The old woman looked troubled. "I wonder how this happened," she murmured absently.

Alana decided she was speaking to herself.

_July 3, 3:41 pm - A cafe in Washington, D.C._

The woman growled as she rested her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands. Her boss was going to be so furious with her. She hated when he was angry; he was scary when he was like that. But, perhaps, she could still fix the mistake? As the thought crossed her mind, she smiled slightly.

Yes, that could work very well.

A buzz in her ear made her go rigid.

"It's been quite some time since I gave you the go-ahead."

The woman was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke slowly, uneasily, "The agent... she, ah, managed to escape. Her companion, he must've been a scouting agent or something, 'cause suddenly there were three different branches on site. I didn't hang around to let them find out who we were."

"That's inexcusable," the voice stated lowly.

"I won't let it happen again, sir. I promise!"

"One failure is too many, Miss Elliot. It endangers the whole operation. I'll give you one last chance, however, Miss Elliot. Fail one more time, and you'll regret it."

"Y-yes, sir. Thank you."

"Good."

_July 3, 9:76 pm - An apartment building in Washington, D.C._

Alana groaned as she laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. What exactly had happened that afternoon? Director Hightower, after the shooting in the house that was meant to be her home, had told her not to worry about it just yet, but what Alana wanted to know was how could she _not_ worry about it? Either way, it had cost her a good night's rest. The adrenaline hadn't stopped flowing yet, so now she found herself incapable of sleep.

Alana yawned, stretching, and held her hands in front of her face, looking at them thoughtfully. Then she folded them across her stomach, running through the information she'd worked to memorize on the plane.

So far, she'd met America and England, and listened to Director Hightower's warnings about several other countries, only two of which struck her as truly significant because both England and America had agreed: a warning about Russia and his childish cruelty, and his sister, Belarus.

There were also the Kirklands, all of whom already seemed predisposed to hate her, although England, while tentative and occasionally brusque, was at least willing to be moderately polite to and accepting of her while they'd been around each other. From what she'd heard, his older brothers weren't all quite so tolerant.

Of course, there were other countries who the director had suggested she be careful around, but, for the most part, Russia, Belarus, and the Kirklands were the biggest problems she'd identified.

Alana shook her head and looked around the apartment.

ISA took care of its agents, obviously. The apartment she was staying in was massive and didn't cost her a thing. They had also, as she'd discovered earlier, provided her with a nice car with great gas mileage. She also noticed it was a Ford, 'a nod to her Detroit roots,' as Director Hightower had remarked. She chuckled at the thought.

"Funny how I hated growing up in Detroit," Alana commented to herself, smirking. "I wonder how everyone's doing." Her eyes glazed and she pondered trying to contact her siblings.

Damien, of course, was out of the question; it was past midnight where he was.

Mina and Tate could both be in another country, too, for all she knew.

Alana groaned again. "Ugh!" she growled irately. "I don't know what to do! I can't sleep and I don't know where my family is!" She paused, and then hissed, "And they probably think I abandoned them, too!"

Was that the price of being an agent of ISA? She lost contact with all of the people who were important to her? Was she even allowed to reestablish contact with them now that ISA had accepted her as an agent? Why hadn't she thought of that four years ago?

"Stupid!" Alana sighed, hiding her face with one hand. "How can I keep my promise if I can't even see my family?" Slowly, her hand slid down and clasped the pendant her mother had given her the night she'd died. She grasped it tightly, closing her eyes. "Mom, I don't know what to do now. I need your help."

"Everything's going to be alright," a soft, female voice responded.

Alana sat up and looked around, her bright eyes gleaming as she scanned her surroundings. She thought she saw a ball of light to her left but, as she turned, it vanished. After a long moment, Alana let herself lay down again. "Great," she said. "Now you're losing it, Alana." She sighed, rolled onto her side, and curled up, staring at the door.

To her surprise, sleep came to her then. She willingly succumbed to it.

* * *

**A/N: I like babbling on to you guys. About Jaded Angel. About my life. About people I love and/or hate. About other awesome stories I've read (I highly recommend What a Brother! What a Bother! by Kopanda because it's made of pure win).**

**_Anyways..._ this chapter isn't exactly my favorite, because I rewrote it a million times, and then I got sidetracked with a lot of homework and being grounded. Originally, it was supposed to be some family introductions, and then it was going to be an entire chapter filled with nothing but the history of the agency, and finally I just decided that, okay, some action would be good. This chapter will (probably) eventually go under a huge revision when I get my first break from school next month, but until then, it'll have to do. Sorry that it's lame; I'm not going to offer anymore excuses for it. It's just _lame._**

**Can anyone figure out what that was that Alana saw/heard at the end of the chapter, and why she saw/heard it? :3**

**UnDetectedWriter: Glad I could add another one to the ranks, and thank you for the fave, follow, and lovely review, all of which made my Monday a good one! As for school, at least you only have 180 days left until you have to get ready for college. I have 349 days left (I keep track and I am _not_ ashamed). Stay awesome! Awesome people are the only ones keeping me from snapping and running down the hallways screaming.**

**Bree: I'm going to hold you to that! As far as the jerks go, I'm thinking about putting _all_ of my school stuff in my bag and throwing it at their faces. By the way, you know how thick the literature books are? Well, let's say I've got the equivalent of four of those, my graphing calculator, a Spanish book and workbook, a hardcover sketchbook, four notebooks, five binders, a folder filled with music, my leather journal, my metal case of graphic pencils, my pastel case, and a whole lot of mechanical pencils, all of which I can fit in my bag, so how's that for plotting? -Innocent face-**


	4. Chapter Three: Acceptance

**I realized after I posted the last chapter that the end makes it seem kind of obvious what Alana saw/heard, but it's really not what you would expect. Honest, it's not. _Anyways,_ my goal was to update on Saturdays, and I still intend to do that, so you know. I just decided that I should tell you now, after such quick updates last week and then a long time between then and now, that I'm not going to update so quickly from now on. My next update will be, _hopefully,_ this Saturday or the next, provided I don't get grounded. _Again._**

**Disclaimer: I've said it before and I'll say it again. The boring humans are mine, and the non-canon nations are probably someone else's. So yeah.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Acceptance**

_January 19, 45 years ago, 12:39 pm – World Meeting, Dublin, Ireland_

Alexandria LaCroix smiled easily at Italy, listening to him ramble on to her while the older agent beside her looked amused. This was, from what she'd gathered, normal – just like it was normal for Germany to drag the babbling nation away while looking somewhat embarrassed, as he was doing now.

"He thinks you're pretty," the agent beside her chuckled. "That's what that was all about." He was assigned to be her mentor of sorts until she grew accustomed to hanging around near-immortal personifications of nations, as was customary for new agents.

"I see," Alexandria returned smoothly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind one ear. She laced her fingers together over her stomach and started when she heard a loud, one-sided shouting match break out somewhere to her left. She turned quickly, her pale eyes scanning the room.

Beside her, the senior agent shuffled forward and narrowed his eyes. "That'll be Ireland," he said warily. "Ireland and England, and their other siblings won't be too far behind."

Alexandria pinpointed said personifications before he even finished speaking. She was suddenly grateful for the fact that new agents had to learn the faces of each nation before actually meeting them, otherwise she'd have been lost.

Ireland and England were facing each other, England with his back to them, and Ireland was shouting at him furiously for some reason or another. It continued on for about a moment before an England doppelganger materialized out of the din of people and tried to tug Ireland away, either startling the man or distracting him for a moment.

Either way, while he wasn't looking, a redhead appeared and pushed England out of sight amongst the curious onlookers.

"Best not get involved, Agent Banes," the agent beside Alexandria said.

Alexandria muttered in French, watching the scene unfold. When it seemed that nothing else was going to happen, she turned away, following her senior partner. She glanced over her shoulder, however, and saw that the nations had dispersed, as if nothing had happened.

Although she didn't realize it yet, that would be the first of many fights that she would witness in her time as an agent of Night Watch.

_July 7, 10:23 am – World Meeting, Washington, D.C., USA_

As Alana followed the senior Agent Jacobi Harris into the building, she was blasted with a rush of air noticeably cooler than the stiflingly hot, humid breeze outside. The second thing to catch her attention was the sheer size of the lobby – and the number of people within. Then, before she could pick out anything else, she zeroed in on a familiar accent: England's irritated, rising tone, somewhere to her right. She turned her head, spotting the blond beside a column.

He was arguing with who Alana identified as Scotland, and the other, adult Kirklands were standing nearby, watching the dispute as it grew more and more heated.

Jacobi followed her gaze. "You should stay away from them while they're like that, Agent Banes," he warned quietly. "Especially since they don't seem to like you much already."

Alana glanced at him thoughtfully. Then her attention returned to the bickering nations as their volume increased sharply. "They're almost to blows," she stated absently.

"It won't happen," Jacobi said. "The others never let it get that far."

Alana didn't look away this time. Instead, she crouched and made it look as if she was fixing her shoe, keeping her eyes on the argument. She knew what it looked like when someone was about to strike, and Scotland looked well and truly _pissed_, in her opinion. Her fingers coiled around the handle of a concealed knife she kept on her person at all times, a residual habit from her childhood. She looked up at Jacobi then, holding out her cover with her free hand. She'd worn her Marine uniform under Director Hightower's instruction; apparently it was normal for (and, sometimes, even expected of) military agents. "Hold this for a second, please? I need to fix my shoe," she lied smoothly.

"Sure," Jacobi agreed, grasping the white cover carefully.

Alana smiled and fixed her vivid, blue gaze on the arguing nations again. She didn't care what Jacobi said; someone was going to get hurt unless she intervened.

It happened, then. Something was said and then Scotland's body language screamed that he was going on the attack.

Alana shot up into a standing position, knife in her fingers, and threw it with quick, somewhat sloppy aim that she was proud to admit struck its target.

The blade embedded itself in the column beside the two angry nations, between them, with a soft, muffled sound.

There was a short pause, and then, slowly, the Kirklands all turned to look for the one who'd thrown the knife.

Alana wasn't hard to spot; all eyes were on her and she, in turn, was looking at them icily, holding out her hand to Jacobi for her cover.

"Are you insane?" Jacobi whispered urgently, placing her cover in her hand.

Alana smiled, dropping her voice so only the older man could hear her, "I figured, if they hate me already, I've got nothing to lose. I'll talk to them by myself; don't worry about it."

Jacobi hesitated. "You're sure, Agent Banes?" he asked in a normal tone.

"Absolutely," Alana responded emotionlessly, adopting a peaceful look as she slid a finger along the brim of her cover, thoughtful. "There's only one thing in this world that scares me, and it's _not_ them."

"Alright," Jacobi agreed softly. "I'll be nearby."

Alana nodded and watched him vanish into the press of people. Then she reached up with her free hand, checking her bun, and paused when the tip of the knife she'd thrown appeared in her peripheral. She smiled slightly, focusing on the silver blade thoughtfully.

"I hope you were aiming for the wall, lassie," a Scottish accent rang in her ears. The tone was one of irritation.

"Of course," Alana stated simply, turning. She tapped her finger gently on the broad side of the blade. "I don't aim at anyone unless I have a good reason."

Scotland frowned at her. "Good. Make sure you keep it that way, lass," he growled, and grabbed her hand, pressing the handle of the knife into her palm. He had nothing else to say, apparently, for he then proceeded to turn and walk away.

Alana paused. For some odd reason, she felt as though she'd just passed some sort of test.

"That was a brave move."

Alana turned and tilted her head back, smiling uneasily at the nation who was speaking to her. She hated being short, but, even more, she hated people who were abnormally tall.

Based on his accent and creepy aura, this must've been Russia. He was much taller than she, and could probably snap her like a twig if he wanted to. He smiled eerily at her. "You are the new American agent, da?" he asked.

Alana nodded. "I am," she replied as evenly as she could manage.

The Russian man's smile widened. "Where did you learn to throw knives?"

Alana actually managed a genuine smile at that, although sorrow tainted the expression. She felt eyes on her back and glanced over her shoulder, spotting a now-familiar redhead staring – or, perhaps, glaring – at her, along with his siblings. They were all within earshot, but she opted to ignore them. "I taught myself when I was a child," she replied bluntly, focusing on the violet-eyed man.

If at all possible, the Russian looked impressed by that tidbit. "Children do not learn such things unless they need to, da?" he answered. "Why did you learn that?"

Alana lifted the blade, twisting it so that it reflected light across one side of her face. "We had to learn how to defend ourselves or our father would've killed us," she said.

"And your mother?"

"He killed her."

"Where is your father?"

"I shot him when he attacked my little brother. I received a full pardon when the governor saw what our father did to…" Alana trailed off, grimacing at the memory. She shook her head, thoughtful, and spoke again slowly, choosing her words with care, "I was pardoned when the governor saw exactly what had been done to us." Preoccupied as she was with that memory, she almost didn't notice when another blond appeared beside her, shouting.

"You better not be messing with the, like, new girl, Russia! If you are, I'll totally have to enforce the Poland Rule on you!" the man exclaimed.

Alana winced at the sudden increase in volume, glancing sideways at who she assumed was Poland.

"You are annoying!" Russia mused with sickeningly sweet cheerfulness in his voice, smiling eerily again as he stared at the blond.

"Dear big brother, is this American threatening you?" a faintly creepy voice cooed in a would-be loving tone. A pretty woman dressed in a deep blue dress materialized beside Russia, clinging to his arm and glaring at Alana suspiciously. "He's mine, American! We're getting married… _married_… _married_…"

"Leave me alone!" Russia cried, his expression becoming one of horror.

Poland laughed at the scene, apparently forgetting Alana was even there.

A hand grasped Alana's arm and she was pulled away, an unfamiliar voice ringing in her ears, "She's not threatening anyone, Belarus! She just threw that to stop my brothers from fighting."

Belarus's eyes narrowed. Then she began to giggle, the sound sending a chill down Alana's spine.

Alana glanced back and saw an England look-alike pulling her away from the trio. She chuckled, recalling the nation from the file. When they were far enough from the trio, the blond stopped pulling her along and let go of her arm, looking at her.

"You must be Sara Banes," Wales said, smiling slightly. "David Kincadd said we should give you a chance. I'm fairly certain Alba's new agent said the same thing, but Alba isn't ready to do that. Sorry."

"It's fine," Alana said. "I can't hold grudges against people I don't know, right?"

Wales nodded. "I just wish Alba and Éire **(1)** could do that," he mused, glancing around for the two siblings.

Scotland and Ireland were standing with another man, Northern Ireland, discussing something. Northern Ireland glanced towards them and then said something to his two brothers, looking befuddled.

"North's ready to accept you, too, but he won't until they do, or until you meet him by himself," Wales explained. He looked at Alana again. "Alba and Éire have to respect you before they'll accept you. By the way, it was brave of you to throw that knife, but they won't respect you until you confront them face-to-face."

Alana chuckled. "I can do that," she said. "But now's not the time."

"You know, the first Banes saw another of our arguments at her first World Meeting. She didn't react like you did, but we actually tried to stop the fight that time. We didn't try this time. It's probably a good thing you stepped in." Wales paused and then changed the subject. "Was your father really like that?"

Alana smiled tiredly. "He was," she said.

"He really killed your mother?"

Alana found herself fighting another surge of memory. "Yeah," she said.

"You know, nevermind. I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be asking—"

"It's alright. I've never really told anyone about my life. It feels good to tell someone who isn't, well, uh…" Alana glanced back towards where Russia was still trying to pry himself from Belarus. She looked back at the dirty blond. "Anyways, I don't mind telling you."

"A-alright, if you're sure. How did it happen?"

"He stabbed her. I promised her I'd protect my siblings."

A glint flashed in Wales' eyes. "Iain made a promise like that to our mother just before she died, too," he said. "He thinks we don't know. He'll probably respect you more if he knows."

Alana's gaze flared with doubt. "I failed, though," she said. "One of my older brothers is probably dead. I couldn't protect him."

"How did that happen?"

"All of my siblings are Marines. He went missing during a roadside bombing in Iraq nine years ago."

"Where were you?"

"In college."

"Then it's honorable; he died for America and you couldn't do anything about it. Fighting and dying for one's country is something even _we_ call being a 'hero,' no matter what nation the soldier was from."

"I know, but I still feel like I could've done something about it."

"You couldn't, and we can all respect your brother for what he did."

Alana smiled at the nation after a moment. "You're right," she said reluctantly, nodding slightly.

Wales chuckled and looked like he was about to say something else when he caught sight of a clock hanging in the back of the lobby. "The meeting's supposed to start," he informed her. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Agent Banes."

"Likewise," Alana replied, watching the man turn and walk away.

England appeared at his side and it was only then that Alana _really _noticed the differences between them.

Wales was a bit taller and looked just a tiny bit older than his brother. His hair was also a little messier and darker in color, too.

Alana took mental notes of those differences, filing them away for later. She was certain she'd need them. Then she switched her attention to Jacobi Harris, who was weaving his way closer.

"Well, Agent Banes, you handled that surprisingly well," the older agent mused. "And then you actually talked to Russia without running away screaming. You must be a freak of nature or something."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Alana replied, smiling at the senior agent.

Jacobi chuckled. "Best put that knife away, by the way. Civilians _do_ come through here during world meetings and they'll know something's up if they see that," he said.

Alana obeyed.

* * *

**A/N: (1) Alba and Éire - Scotland and Ireland**

**Alright, in this chapter, my main goal was to introduce Alana to a few nations and show that she's not exactly like the first Banes, she's just similar. Even in how she first meets the Kirklands, because I'm a bit of a fan of parallelism. I'm not writing the accents because, first of all, most people don't understand Scots and secondly, the nations are _all_ speaking English in this story. Besides, I'm kind of lazy when it comes to accents, except for Scots. That one I can do, but I tend to confuse people with that one. I met a Scottish person in Michigan this summer and just sat there and listened to them like, "You have an accent. That makes you awesome." I _really_ learned (learnt) to understand Scots then.**

**By the way, Alana got her knife-throwing abilities from Big Brother Aidan and she has the worst aim of all five of the Claudan kids. It's not really significant to the story, but it's a fun little fact. ****It's also something she got from the real person I based her off of! x3 Yes, that person also happens to walk around with knives in her shoes. I know some cool/weird people (-Cough- freaks -cough-), yeah?**

**UnDetectedWriter: To be honest, Alana's not my favorite character in this story. It's one of her co-workers. Pssh, I just get excited when I get reviews. I got into school saying, "I'M SO HAPPY AND YOU CAN'T CHANGE THAT!" and then I go into Spanish and get all depressed, but until then, I'm like, "WOO! Life ROCKS." You asked that at the perfect time; how about now? 8D**

**Bree: I _am_ innocent! Remember that one time when I- oh, wait, I wound up throwing a pencil at the baka that time. Anyways, n_ow_ you know the answer to the question. I'm still holding you to that update. If you don't upload this weekend, I'm going to jump you at school on Monday, first thing in the morning. o: I'll be all like, "RAPTOR! -Bite-" I want Nekomimi ears for spirit week. My teachers could call on me and the ears would prick up. I'd just put on an "ORLY?" face whenever it happened. Or in choir. Teacher: "Warm ups! Sing, 'No****!'" Me, way off-key: "NYAAA!~" I could see myself getting kicked out. That, of course, wouldn't be a bad thing; I'd come terrorize you guys, wherever you were. :3**


	5. Chapter Four: Taking Risks

**I know I missed my deadline. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm **_**sorry**_**! I just forgot that I had a baseball game to go to on Saturday, and then I had to beat down inspiration so that I didn't abandon **_**this**_** story. I also think I'll be grounded this weekend, too; my grades probably suck because I don't do homework, and my dad only just started checking my grades, so... yeah. Uhm. Oops? ****But this chapter is so freakin' short, I hate it! Not even a thousand words! I feel like it's a disappointment, but my mantra is, 'As long as something is achieved to keep the plot flowing, you're alright.' At least I did that. But, still, I'M SO ASHAMED.**

**Disclaimer: Once again, I only own the boring humans. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, yeah?**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Taking Risks**

_July 7, 10:54 am - Private address, London, England_

"Father?" a soft woman's voice spoke meekly. She closed the door behind her.

The older man lifted his head, his eyes thoughtful as he gazed at the middle-aged woman "Yes?" he asked gruffly.

"Miss, ah, Elliott has managed to find some information on the new, American agent," his daughter replied easily.

"And what information is that?"

"Her false identity, Father. She's called Sara Mary Banes, a woman from a small town in Georgia."

"Sara Mary Banes. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, Father. The information Elliott pulled up on her – she's, ah, been an operative for almost forty-five years, it seems."

"Forty-five years? How?"

"We're still looking into that," the woman said. She shuffled through a stack of papers she had clutched in her hands and then held up a black-and-white photograph featuring a woman who wore a small smile and had eyes that were obviously incredibly pale, even in the grayscale image. "This is a photograph of her forty-five years ago. Her name's Alexandria LaCroix, of Canada."

Hartwig looked up at his daughter, frowning thoughtfully. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, leaned forward, and narrowed his eyes into thin slits. "Is it possible she's another personification?" he asked slowly, as if he already knew the answer to the question.

The woman returned the photograph to the stack and shook her head. She shifted her stance, seeming quite uncomfortable. "I don't believe so, Father. ISA would never allow a personification to get into a dangerous situation like its agents do. That aside, if she's another personification of Canada, why would ISA make her a liaison between Britain and Ireland and the Canadian branch?"

There was a long pause.

Hartwig hummed lowly, leaning back in his chair and staring down at the paper on his desk. He didn't seem to truly see it, however. His eyes were fixated on something beyond the page, instead seeing his thoughts play before them. "You don't suppose there are two Sara Mary Baneses, do you?" he questioned, tilting his head almost childishly.

"It... seems highly unlikely, sir," his daughter answered slowly, shaking her head. She walked across the office and, resorting the file as she went, added on, "ISA has never reused identities." She stopped in front of his desk and gingerly set the file down in front of her aging father. "There's more, Father. The LaCroix family... it seems there's been a long history between them and ISA. In fact, Alexandria's own mother, Evangeline LaCroix, is serving the Canadian branch even now."

"Is that so? Perhaps we should pay Miss Evangeline a visit. Agent Banes might come forward very willingly if we do. Nonetheless, we'll continue as planned. Keep me updated, Yvette."

Yvette nodded and spun around, pacing across the office to the door. She looked over her shoulder. "Whenever I hear anything, I'll be sure to tell you, Father," she said. Then she opened the door and vanished.

Hartwig waited for the click of the shutting door and then pulled the file closer, opening it. "Alright, Night Watch, you can't hide everything from me," he growled decisively.

_July 7, 11:01 am - World Meeting, Washington, D.C._

Alana grimaced when she heard a loud shout inside the conference room. She looked over her shoulder, wondering what had incited such noise.

Jacobi chuckled at her. "Don't worry about it too much," he said. "They always fight during world meetings."

"That's a... good thing?"

"No, but it's not unusual."

Alana paused, looking at the man strangely. After a long pause, the former Marine nodded her acceptance.

"Jacobi!" a new voice cut through the air.

Jacobi turned his head at that. He grinned, calling, "Sparks!"

A man in his mid- to late twenties was walking down the hall towards the pair.

Alana found herself doing a retake.

The youth, average in height, wore a plain, black t-shirt and jeans with tears in the knees, accompanied by old sneakers. Tattoos covered his muscled arms and his hair, dyed a startlingly bright shade of green, was spiked up in a mohawk. He stopped in front of them, grinning lopsidedly and holding out his hand to Alana. "Hey! You must be the new kid! I'm Tobias Hendrickson, but everyone calls me Tobi – or Sparks!" he introduced himself. "I'm the head nerd of the American branch!"

Alana managed to smile, taking his hand. "Right," she said.

"You don't have to pretend to believe me for my sake! I know I look like a juvenile delinquent!" Tobi laughed. "I just like to disprove stereotypes."

"Yeah, you do, Sparks," Jacobi chuckled, giving the youth a pointed look. He switched his attention to the tiny newcomer. "He majored in computer science."

"Minor in forensics," Tobias added brightly. "I built Tesla coils for my senior project in high school and graduated when I was sixteen. I graduated from college at twenty. That's why ISA likes me so much. They like to call me their personal super genius or something, but I just think it's fun to be smart. Have you met Estonia yet? He and I get along pretty well."

Alana opened her mouth to reply but was drowned out by another shout within the conference room.

The three Americans turned and stared at the door blankly.

"Ten dollars says Germany storms out first," Tobi stated suddenly, his broad grin returning.

"My money's on England," Jacobi said, shaking his head. He looked once again at the new agent. "What about you, kiddo?"

Alana looked at him, perplexed once more.

"She gets newbie rights," Tobi declared suddenly, nodding decisively. "She's not—"

"One of England's brothers," Alana stated firmly.

"I'd be surprised – and mildly concerned – if you were one of England's brothers," Tobi responded.

"I think that's her wager, Sparks," Jacobi said. "It's a pretty good one, Agent Banes. You're learning quickly!"

Tobias whistled appreciatively. "That _is_ a good bet," he agreed, nodding with a smirk. "For a rookie."

Alana shrugged. "Everyone's a rookie eventually," she said.

"Ain't that the truth!" Tobi returned smoothly, and then burst into laughter.

* * *

**A/N: Not much is going on in this chapter. Well, there's some foreshadowing, but I don't like writing about Hartwig, so I had to stop writing about him and put some filler in before I starting bashing my head on the keyboard. At the very least, I introduced Tobias Hendrickson. He's my favorite character. **_**Ever.**_**  
**

**Anyways, the next chapter probably won't be about the World Meeting; it'll probably have some kind of action – and a lot of countries, not so much humans, maybe?**

**Lilly: Ooh, when I read your review before I went to school, I started crying **_**so hard**_**! That's one of the nicest things I've ever heard... err, read! I hope "Jaded Angel" keeps on delivering! I know they're not boring; I just like to call them dull because it's funny.**

**UnDetectedWriter: I wish they were canon, too. It would be so awesome! Thank you! I hope this one is just as good!**

**Bree: You had no right to jump me this morning, you meanie! I told you I might not update this weekend! I just thought it would be for a different reason. I still want the ears. Or a light-up equalizer shirt that really detects the volume from ThinkGeek! just to mess with the choir teacher. I LOVE YOU, TOO, MY FREAK FRIENDS!**


	6. Chapter Five: To Be Only Human

**_SORRYSORRYSORRYDON'TKILLMEPLEASE._ I was grounded, though, and I'm still struggling with that inspiration, too. I tried to make this chapter long, but I don't think I did a very good job. Annnyways, some big events in this chapter and I lied, no nations make an appearance in this chapter, only humans. Sorry, but I'm just not very good with them unless I'm writing something really stupid or deadly serious - although this chapter has some deadly serious moments, but the nations involved have no clue what's even going on, so it doesn't count. Sorry, no Alana in this chapter - but there're some other cool characters that I love to write about.**

**Disclaimer: I only own the boring humans. If I owned Hetalia, it probably wouldn't be as good as it is, anyways.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: To Be Only Human**

_July 10, 12:01 pm – a small home in London, England_

The incessant ticking of the old clock that hung on the wall over the sofa was going to drive the young blond insane if the silence that filled the air between her eldest sister and herself didn't do it first, Yvette Hartwig thought wearily. She followed the other woman's gaze to a series of professional photographs printed in black-and-white and a dash of yellow to represent the beautiful dresses the bridesmaids wore and the elegant bouquet held by the bride herself.

The images were from her sister's wedding, one that Yvette had been invited to, had longed to attend, but had been forbidden from by her father. She focused intently on the man in the photographs, who stood beside her sister.

He was an American, and, dressed in full, formal United States Marine Corps regalia, he looked exactly as she had imagined he would the first time her sister had spoken of him. He was tall, standing at least a head over his wife, Grace, and had a strong, sturdy frame. His jaw line was square and his features were sharp, giving him a rough, stern look, but there was a certain gentleness that was always in his expression and in his pale, gray-blue-green eyes that made him seem attractive in an almost unnatural way. The huge, overjoyed smile that split his face in the photograph she was looking at made him look like a Greek god, the way he seemed to radiate warmth and happiness and strength and love all at once.

And Grace, with her arms around the Marine's neck, a delighted smile on her face, and dressed in a simple but elegant wedding gown, looked like a goddess. Her soft features, so unlike her husband's sharper ones, did an excellent job at hiding the hardships she'd endured all her life and, lit up with pure, genuine happiness and adoration as they were in the photograph, Yvette almost doubted that the older woman had ever lived a hard life.

The first time she'd met him, it had struck her just how gentlemanly and modest he was. It had completely evaporated her belief that Americans were loud, arrogant jerks. She'd admired her older sister's catch. She wanted one just like him.

Even their father had approved of him, at first.

Then they learnt that he was Staff Sergeant Damien _Claudan_.

While Yvette and most of the other family members hadn't cared, their father had been absolutely _furious_ with Grace Ella Hartwig, now Grace Ella Hartwig-_Claudan_ (a sign of forgiveness between the families, as the preacher at Grace's and Damien's wedding had stated).

Yvette shook her head of the memory and glanced sideways at her sister, carefully scanning her facial expression. It would be harder than she'd originally thought, trying to convince her sister to leave him. She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. "Grace," she spoke up softly.

Grace's dark eyes slid sideways and focused on her. "Yes, Miss Hartwig?" she asked.

Yvette jerked up and stared at Grace as if she'd been struck. "Don't be so cold with me!" she pleaded. "I'm your sister, no matter what our father says!"

Grace didn't seem at all phased. She tucked a stray strand of her curling, blond hair behind one ear. "Speaking of your father," she said. "I assume he sent you to be a messenger. What is it he wants?"

Yvette stared at her sister for a long moment, scanning her face. Then she shook her head, slumping in defeat. "Grace, he... he's going to utterly destroy the Claudan family. Including you, unless you leave Damien."

Grace's eyes narrowed into thin slits as she processed the information. "Your father is a fool to think he can pull it off," she remarked. "That aside, I would never leave Damien. I love him." She looked at the photographs again.

Yvette opened her mouth to try again.

Grace cut her off. "I won't," she said finally, and glared meaningfully at her younger sister. "Till death do us part."

Yvette swallowed hard and looked down at Grace's stomach.

_July 10, 8:01 am – Somewhere over the Atlantic_

The pilot glanced over his shoulder when the door to the cabin slid open and a middle-aged, Japanese agent stepped inside. In Japanese, he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No," the woman replied. "I was sent to make sure you are both well."

"We are," the pilot said. He paused and opened his mouth to say something else when he felt an overwhelming pain seize his body. He tried to ask her to get help, but he found he couldn't make a sound. He turned, looking at the woman with a panicked expression.

The Japanese woman smiled apologetically.

The pilot saw nothing else.

The agent stepped forward, pressing a finger to her headpiece as she glanced at the copilot, who'd just suffered the same death as his partner. "It is done, Hartwig," she spoke in English as she shifted the pilot from the seat and onto the floor, seizing the controls.

"Excellent work," her aged employer replied. "Tell the nations that you have to make an emergency landing once you're over Britain. Don't let them know anything else."

"Yes, sir," the woman agreed, smiling coyly. "And what of the Night Watch agents who are still alive?"

"What agents are alive?" Hartwig questioned in a dry tone that was bordering on disinterest. He continued, suddenly sounding slightly more engrossed. "Are there any directors or other, important agents aboard?"

"Of course, sir. All of the Asian directors are aboard," the woman explained. "All directors attend the World Meetings, sir. It does not matter where these meetings are held."

"Oh, is that so? I never saw that rule. Are there any other agents of significance aboard the flight?"

"There is one from Vietnam. She is supposedly going to become the next director of the Vietnamese branch, should the current director die. The rest are insignificant."

"We'll take them captive, too, then, and execute the lesser agents. Contact me again when you're preparing to land."

"Yes, sir." The woman dropped her finger from the headset and glanced coldly at the dead pilot lying beside her chair. "I am sorry," she said in Chinese, for that's where the pilot was from. "You have given your life for your country, but your death will be in vain. That is a sad way to die." She repeated the line to the copilot, but this time in Korean. Then she focused on the controls.

Several minutes past before the woman displayed any further emotions.

The middle-aged traitor grimaced as she thought of the special, undetectable, poisonous cocktail that one of Hartwig's other employees had concocted just for the pilot and copilot. She had slipped it into their water just before the flight took off, bound, originally and ultimately, for China, and she imagined it was an agonizing death, as she had seen when it was given to a pig to test its effects.

The Japanese woman shivered. She wasn't a fan of animal testing, nor had she wanted to kill the two men, but she hadn't been allowed to show any sign of emotion as she'd watched the innocent creature die. She'd wanted so bad to simply toss the small vial of poison instead of slipping a few drops into the men's glasses of water, too.

"Oh, Ryuuko, what have you done?" the woman asked herself quietly.

_July 10, 12:11 pm – a small home in London, England_

Another awkward silence had seized control of Grace Ella Claudan's discreet, little London home, broken only by the irritating ticking of the aged clock on the wall. Grace moved a hand to her belly.

Yvette closed her eyes. "You're pregnant, aren't you?" she finally spoke.

Grace nodded slowly. "I am," she said, smiling affectionately. "We like Elspeth Aidan if it's a girl and Thomas Aidan if it's a boy."

Yvette grimaced, opening her chocolate eyes and smiling slightly. "Congratulations, Grace. I'm sure your baby will be beautiful, no matter what," she said in a choked voice. She loved her sister dearly and really didn't care that her husband was a Claudan, just like he didn't mind that his wife was a Hartwig. But if their father found out that Grace was pregnant… Yvette shivered. "Don't let Father learn about your baby, Grace. Go into hiding if you have to. Just don't let him find out."

Grace smiled again and held out her hand to Yvette. "You can't let him keep you on a leash," she said as she finally let her façade of bitterness slip away completely. "Take it from your big sister, Yvette. You have to escape him, somehow, some way."

Yvette looked shocked at the sudden display of warmth. She hesitantly took her elder sister's hand and held on tightly for a long moment before she finally nodded, slowly. "I know, Grace," she agreed. "And I will. As soon as I see the way out, I'm going to take it. Father has taken this feud too far; it's time to forgive what we've already forgotten."

Grace nodded. "If you ever need anything, Yvette, I'll be right here for you," she answered. She paused, and then squeezed her little sister's hand. "And so will Damien."

Yvette hesitated before she let go of her sister's hand. She pushed herself to her feet. "I have to go," she sighed.

"Come and visit us," Grace mused, standing as well. "We like company, and you're my little sister. We can't just turn you away."

_July 10, 8:16 am – American ISA HQ, Washington, D.C., America_

"Director Hightower!" Tobias cried as he skidded into the lobby of the headquarters of the American branch. He had a panicked expression on his face.

The old woman whirled on her heels, looking alarmed. The British directors and the agents that had come with them for the World Meeting also turned, as did the American agents who were in the room. "What is it, Tobi?" Hightower asked quickly.

"I just received a tip! The Asian nations are going to be kidnapped today!"

"Where'd the tip come from?"

"That's just it, Director! There's _nothing_ that could have sent it! Technically speaking, the information doesn't even _exist_!"

* * *

**A/N: ****Anyone want to guess who sent Sparks the exists-but-really-shouldn't tip? I'll give a virtual cookie... -Holds up massive jar of virtual cookies-**

**I just thought of this, too: if you're noticing that the times are going back and forth between hours, it's because I'm trying to be true to the time zones without labeling them (because I'm a rebel like that). So, really, at the beginning of this chapter, where it says 12:01 pm, Ryuuko is hijacking the plane at the exact same time, although it's not really 8:01 am on the plane, I just put Eastern Standard Time because I'm kind of lazy sometimes. At the end, where it says 8:16 am, they're in the US capital, so it really is 8:16 am.**

**By the way, I like Ryuuko; she's an intriguing kind-of-antagonist that I named after my ****language instructor (note: the real life Ryuuko-sensei was nothing like the Jaded Angel Ryuuko). I kind of made her up on the spot, too! Maybe I'll keep her around and develop her some more, if I can get that to work for the plot (probably not; I've got a few twists I'm planning on throwing in already). Now you've also met a part of Alana's family, her sister-in-law, Grace Ella. She, and the rest of the Hartwig siblings, play a very interesting role in the story later on, and they're family-oriented like the Claudan siblings.**

**Sorry, Tobi, but you're about fifteen minutes too late to rescue all of Asia.**

**The next chapter will either center around the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland discussing the new Banes and remembering the old, or it might be about Alana's siblings and what they're doing at this point in the story. So, it's kind of a filler, but at the same time, it's kind of not, because everything that either the nations/the Claudan kids do or say will be important to developing either their relationship with the main character and the history of the agency, or the background of the main character. I'll also try to update twice this week to make up for my missed deadlines.**

**Jeebus, this note is getting long. Better stop rambling!**

**UnDetectedWriter: It just seemed like something bored agents would do!**

**Bree: Nuh-uh, no, you didn't. Yes, I'm super excited about introducing Tobi! I'm also psyched about Grace Ella, because she's one of Alana's 'siblings' and she has family problems, too! As for the shirts, I don't think I could. They're kinda expensive. And about the bet... -Points down- that's what happened.**

**Since you both thought it would be Scotland, _well,_ I think you deserve to know what _really_ happened... Germany was the one to storm out of the meeting first, but only because he found out Prussia was off causing trouble in another nation's capital (which is a major no-no on the 'International List of Things Nations Can't Do During World Meetings') and he had to go get him before he got arrested or something. If not for Prussia being... well, Prussia (-cough- awesome -cough-), Scotland would've been the first because America was being more obnoxious than usual (bragging about his "awesome new agent who throws knives" because he's the hero, _of course_). _Obviously,_ Alana's going to have to work hard to get the Kirklands to accept her, especially with America making them dislike her even more (except for England and Wales, so far) . She's lucky that her best friends are going to be some of their agents.**

**And the meeting went like it usually goes: 98% arguing, 2% accomplishing, and 100% culture shock. Just another day's work at ISA! ...oh, boy...**


End file.
